


And You Are Mine

by Vera_dAuriac



Series: The Debts We Make [7]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Bondage, Canon Divergence, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5617180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FINALLY! Athos and Aramis can consummate their love.</p><p> </p><p>Aramis insisted on a wet, open-mouthed kiss consisting almost entirely of tongue before releasing Athos. “You must have had dreams of your own. What are they?”</p><p>“Besides to make you feel glorious?” Athos asked as he walked the dozen feet to the dressing table.</p><p>“That isn’t a dream, a fantasy. That’s merely good manners.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And You Are Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Although it is part of a series, I have tried to make this work stand on its own, although reading in order is rewarded. If you're just looking for sex without 46K words of build, then jump in here.
> 
> This takes place in my imaginary Season 3, but there are no spoilers for Seasons 1 or 2.
> 
> The quote in the middle come from Sylvan Interlude: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5395409
> 
> These characters don't belong to me, blah, blah, blah.

By Vera d'Auriac

The mission had only lasted a month but it felt like an age to Athos. He had never so desired to stay home as he had before this mission, because at home he had left Aramis, beautiful Aramis who loved him. Worse yet, Aramis had been in the early stages of recovering from a fever when Athos rode off with Porthos, d’Artagnan, and the rest of the regiment. For seven years Athos had been trying to come to terms with his love for Aramis, the past four with Aramis at the monastery in Douai, and when they had finally admitted their love, Aramis had fallen ill and Athos had his duty. 

Word had reached him in a letter from Constance, who had finished nursing Aramis when Athos left, that a mere three days after Athos’s departure, Aramis had felt up to leaving Athos’s house. Of course, Athos had always known Aramis wouldn’t be waiting for him when he returned. Aramis had not left behind the monastic life to rejoin the Musketeers; he had left to be the King’s spy in the household of the new Archbishop of Reims. He had a duty of his own, and naturally, when he felt well enough, he had set about doing it.

But on Athos’s lonely walk in the middle of the night from the garrison to his home, he felt a strong longing for Aramis—he hungered for his smile and his touch and his scent. Athos smiled as he pulled the glove from his pocket that he’d found mysteriously stuffed in his roll of spare clothes. It was Aramis’s, and in fact, one from the pair Athos had bought him years ago for Christmas. While he had been on campaign and he thought no one would notice, Athos had pulled it out and held it up to his nose, inhaling Aramis’s smell. Actually, how the glove had ended up in his gear was no mystery; Aramis had put it there for this exact purpose.

He reached his door and pulled out his key and replaced the glove in the pocket of his pants. He had been on worse missions, but he couldn’t lie to himself that he was still as young as when he began his career, and every scrape told. There was a cut on his left shoulder that throbbed particularly, and he looked forward to sleeping once more in his own bed. And things were quiet enough at the moment, he might even make it the entire night undisturbed by a message. That would be, what, six or seven hours of undisturbed sleep? He felt his muscles relax at the very notion.

But as soon as he had his door open, every muscle tensed again. He was not alone. The light of a lamp emanated from his bedroom, and he made to draw his sword.

“Athos,” said Aramis, silhouetted by the light and framed in the door of the bedroom. “You’re home.”

Athos’s hand fell from the hilt of his sword. “Constance said you were at the Archbishop’s.”

Aramis wore only his underclothes and shirt unlaced at the collar. Soundlessly, he moved toward Athos on his bare feet, his wild hair framing his gorgeous, and once again healthy, face. Athos couldn’t breathe. 

“Constance is a jewel,” Aramis said. “She sent me word that the regiment was returning. I told the Archbishop I needed a day or two to take care of a sick friend in the Paris suburbs.” Aramis had now reached Athos, who still stood motionless at the door, and he placed his soft hand on Athos’s cheek. “I had to see you.”

That touch, which Athos was powerless to not lean into, was all he needed to forget exhaustion and surprise. Aramis was here, and nothing stood in their way any longer.

Athos kissed Aramis fiercely, putting into it all of the want he had ever felt. He could not be gentle with Aramis, his need to express his passion overwhelming any other sense or desire or thought. The way Aramis forced his lips back against Athos’s and his fingers tightened in his hair told Athos they felt the same craving. But “craving” barely expressed his feelings. Athos wanted to swallow Aramis whole. He was ravenous.

Kissing Aramis actually felt a good deal like finally having a decent meal after days on short or no rations. Their tongues sought each other across their mouths, tasting and fighting, and to Athos it felt like finally giving his body something it had long needed. He was being slowly sated, but he had been without for so long it would take a great deal to fill him up. And Athos had never wanted something so desperately as for Aramis to fill him up. 

Athos pulled his lips away from Aramis’s mouth so he could bury his face in Aramis’s neck. Here Athos could kiss him, taste his skin, and more than anything, smell him. It was no longer the sweat and leather and dirt of the glove he had cherished while away, but soap and hair oil the way Aramis always smelled before a night out in Paris, and it made Athos’s stomach tremble. He couldn’t stop himself from sucking just below Aramis’s ear. The glove had tided him over; although it had been like a sip of water to sustain the body until it could find bread. It had been all the more precious to Athos knowing that Aramis had packed it for him, yet it had only been a sip, and now here was the clear, deep lake, and Athos longed to dive in. He pulled Aramis closer, but he made a grunt that even to Athos’s lust-clouded ears sounded of discomfort, not pleasure.

“What’s the matter?” Athos asked, moving his face around to look Aramis in his impossibly dark eyes.

“You are covered head to toe in objects designed to poke people uncomfortably. Now, while I am glad they saw you safe home, I believe it is time to hang them up for the night.” Aramis grinned wickedly while his dexterous fingers set to work on Athos’s sword belt. 

Athos yanked his pistol out and dropped it on the bench under the pegs on the wall where he typically hung his weapons. Then he started on another of his belts, but Aramis grabbed his hands. “I will not have a lover who does not take care of his weapons,” Aramis smirked. “Allow me.”

Aramis released Athos’s hands, and since he was not permitted to use them to help remove his gear, he ran them through Aramis’s hair. This earned him a hum of pleasure instead of a rebuke, so Athos continued, Aramis’s hair sliding through his fingers, until he slipped them over the back of Aramis’s neck and then along his throat and around his ears. Aramis felt so soft and warm, his skin glorious under his fingertips. 

“When did you get this?” Aramis asked, sighting down the pistol Athos had just dropped. 

“It was a gift from the men when I was promoted Captain.”

“Mmm,” Aramis hummed, rubbing his hand delicately down the barrel. “It’s a beauty. Sometime you will have to let me shoot it.” He set the pistol back down gently on the bench while he removed the belt it usually hung from. Once loose, he returned the pistol to its proper place and hung the belt on a peg. This process of taking off his weapons felt agonizingly slow, and Athos leaned in and kissed his way down Aramis’s jawline, the beard a perfect balance of soft and scratchy to Athos’s lips.

Aramis moved closer to Athos and reached around him to unhook the long dagger at the small of Athos’s back. His hands brushed along Athos’s ass, and it was his turn to let out a pleased hum. “This has always been one of my favorite blades of yours.”

Athos had never so little cared about any of his blades. He had only eyes for Aramis—for his smooth cheek above his beard, the curls of hair at the nape of his neck, for his damp lips. But he could not simply look, he had to touch, and he brushed his fingers over Aramis’s cheek, and through his curls, and across his lips. Aramis continued to rid Athos of weapons, and Athos ran his fingers along Aramis’s lips, the tip of his middle finger sliding between them and over Aramis’s tongue.

Aramis smiled around the finger, lightly sucking on it, and thoughtfully removed the final belt, carefully hanging it on its proper peg. When at last his powder horn dangled against the wall, Athos pulled Aramis back into a ferocious kiss, unable to any longer stand close enough to smell Aramis and not taste him.

Aramis returned the kiss with every ounce as much enthusiasm, wrapping Athos tightly in his arms. Between this squeeze and the insistence of the kiss, Athos could barely breathe. He was in danger of drowning after nearly dying of thirst and hunger, but he was content to go down this way. 

Aramis, however, was not. He pulled back, brushing his lips against Athos’s several times, before moving his hands to Athos’s chest. Slowly, with the same deliberation he’d shown with the weapons, he went to work on Athos’s pauldron. “We don’t want to muss your uniform, either.” 

“I don’t care about my damned uniform,” Athos growled, pushing Aramis hard against the wall. They bumped into the entry table that was theoretically for incoming and outgoing messages, but in reality normally held only his hat. Athos forced Aramis onto it. He kissed Aramis so hard it hurt, and set his fingers to work on the laces of Aramis’s underclothes. But he had never been as nimble fingered as Aramis, and somehow, rather than untying them, he’d formed an impossible knot. 

Aramis had the pauldron off and was setting to work on all of Athos’s buttons when he seemed to notice Athos’s problem. He craned his head back from Athos’s mouth, and asked, “Do you need some help?” 

Athos replied with a sharp, “No,” and tore the underclothes open. Reaching through the tattered opening, Athos grasped Aramis’s cock and squeezed. 

Aramis groaned just as the leg on the table snapped. Athos staggered back and Aramis reached up for the pegs, but they were intertwined and Athos overbalanced, so they tumbled to the floor, Aramis ripping the peg holding Athos’s sword out of the wall. The sword clattered to the floor and Aramis landed on top of Athos and chuckled. Athos landed a bit awkwardly on his injured shoulder, but having Aramis atop him only made Athos hungrier and with a hand tight to the back of Aramis’s neck, Athos pulled Aramis’s mouth to his own. 

And in seconds Aramis resumed undressing Athos with so much zeal his steady hands failed him, buttons popping loose and scattering across the floor as he removed the first layer. Then Aramis yanked open Athos’s shirt at the throat and pressed a long kiss to the hollow there before sliding down his body. A quick tug loosed the shirt from Athos’s pants, and Aramis pushed it up to lick Athos’s stomach. Athos moaned as Aramis slid farther down his body and tugged off one boot and flung it across the room. It smacked into the leg of the kitchen table, rattling the decanter on top. Athos couldn’t repress a soft chuckle as he leaned up on his elbows. 

“At this rate, I will have no furniture left intact.” 

Aramis was immediately at Athos’s mouth, kissing him, fast and sloppy. “Furniture. Athos, I have wanted to do something ever since I lay sick in your bed. Please say yes.” 

Athos licked Aramis’s lips before crushing their mouths together again. He couldn’t believe he was here in this moment, Aramis wanting him as thoroughly as Athos wanted him. “Yes. Anything.” 

With a wicked grin, Aramis returned to his previous employment, and yanked Athos’s other boot free. He stopped and stared at Athos’s feet for a moment and shook his head before pulling both socks off simultaneously. Once Aramis had chucked them over his shoulder, he grinned and said, “For safety’s sake, those had to go.” He crawled back up between Athos’s legs to kiss him again. But then, suddenly, he stopped and sat back on his heels, a troubled expression on his previously ecstatic face. 

“I never asked since you came home,” Aramis said, “if you had ever decided what you want.” 

Aramis did not need to be more specific. Once they were honest about their love and knew this night would happen, Aramis’s first question to Athos had been whether he wanted to fuck or be fucked. It was a question that, frankly, Athos had been turning over since he realized how he felt about Aramis seven years ago. But having never been with a man, Athos did not know. However, while away on the mission, he had finally come to a conclusion. 

He wanted to fuck Aramis more than anything. 

And it would all go better if Aramis fucked him first. 

Athos kissed Aramis, more gently than he had at any point previously that night, but with no less heat. He ran his tongue all over Aramis’s mouth, and Aramis seemed content to allow him, his own tongue staying out of Athos’s way. Finally, he broke off and leaned their foreheads together. “I want you to fuck me first. I want you to show me how it’s done.” 

Aramis grinned, but he did not stop there. His lips curled further up and parted until his smile was so broad it crinkled his eyes. Athos could not be happier that this answer pleased him. “Perfect.” Aramis jumped to his feet, and with an outstretched hand, yanked Athos up. Wrapping Athos in his arms and kissing him with short pecks and flicks of the tongue, Aramis made his way backward, pulling Athos to the bedroom. 

The lamp still flickered on the table by the bed. The duvet was mussed as though Aramis had been reclining there. A small book sat next to the lamp, and Athos imagined what it would have been like to come home to find Aramis reading in his bed. The mere thought made his hard cock twitch in his pants. 

But Aramis stopped and did not lead Athos to the bed. Instead, he whirled him around and shoved him face down long ways across the dressing table. Aramis draped himself over Athos and nipped at the back of his neck. “The first thing I saw when I woke up in here was this dressing table. And ever since, all I’ve wanted to do was bend you over it.” 

Athos whimpered, actually whimpered. He couldn’t remember having ever made such a noise in his life, but then again he had never felt a need to before. He heard Aramis drop something on the table, but when he tried to turn his head to see, Aramis pushed his face down. If he had wanted to, Athos could have forced Aramis off him. In fact, he would not have even had to struggle—Aramis would have let him up if he asked. But the famous lover having his way with him, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to the great lover’s whim? Athos’s cock ached at the very thought and the cumulative weight of how erotic the situation had become. 

Aramis’s free hand went to Athos hip and squeezed the pocket. “You found the present I hid in your bag.” Athos could clearly hear the smile in his voice. 

“Yes,” Athos answered. Aramis released the back of Athos’s neck so as to have both hands free to reach around and undo his pants. When Aramis brushed against his erection, Athos hissed in delight. 

“And?” Aramis asked, all the while working buttons and laces. “What did you think when you saw it?” 

“That you must have packed it for me.” 

“Why do think I did that?” 

Athos hesitated. He didn’t want to stay it out loud, and why should he, since Aramis obviously knew the answer? Aramis’s fingers rubbed the head of Athos’s cock through his underclothes, which clung to the tip thanks to the pre-cum. 

“Don’t you think I deserve an answer?” Aramis pressed verbally, although he removed his hand. 

Athos wanted to whimper again, but refrained. “You knew I would like it,” he finally answered. 

“The next time you go away, I want you to ask me for something. I want you to learn to ask me for anything and to tell me everything.” 

“Yes,” Athos agreed, and for his promise of future cooperation, he was rewarded with Aramis pulling his pants and underclothes down to his knees. Athos heard something else land on the table, but this time he didn’t try to look. 

A few moments later, Aramis bent over and kissed the back of Athos’s neck. “If this ever hurts too much, you have to tell me.” 

“Yes, I promise.” 

Aramis kissed the back of Athos’s ear. 

And then Aramis touched him. It was now easy to guess what was on the desk—some jar of oil Aramis had prepared for this moment. A single, slick finger slowly circled Athos’s hole, making him clench and his cock jump. 

“Relax,” Aramis purred. 

“The feeling that gives me produces the opposite reaction.” 

The finger disappeared. “I’m sorry. Are you uncomfortable?” 

Athos twisted around and found Aramis’s other hand and squeezed. “Quite the opposite of that as well. It felt divine, just not relaxing.” 

Aramis took his hand away and ran it through Athos’s hair as he gently pressed him back down on the dressing table. “I understand. Relax into the pleasure if you can.” The finger returned, and Athos felt himself spasm, but willed himself to follow Aramis’s instructions. After a few more circles around the outside, Athos grew accustomed enough to the sensation to both enjoy it and stop clenching. Aramis must have felt it, and he pushed the finger inside. 

Being breached was lovely. There was a bit of a burn, and it just felt…so much. The tingling made his cock throb, and his stomach fluttered. It felt alien and entirely right all at once, and without any conscious thought, he pushed back on Aramis’s finger. He responded by twisting it around, until Athos groaned and lost what little rhythm to his thrusts he had tried to build. 

“You like it?” Aramis asked. 

“Yes. More. When can I feel more?” 

“I don’t want to go too fast. You said you wanted to learn, and the first lesson is never go too fast.” 

Athos groaned, half in mild pain, half in frustration. 

“Something no one ever tells you,” Aramis began, and Athos could hear the smile in his voice. Not that he would be able to concentrate much longer on Aramis’s words, his pleasure building at a distracting rate. “Being with another man is really best left to those who appreciate a bit of tease.” Aramis crooked his finger in a new direction, and Aramis’s words from that night in the woods on their ride into Paris after they had declared their love returned to him. 

_I don’t think you know what’s inside your own body. There is a spot, not terribly far inside you that when touched, oh Athos, it will make your cock twitch as though it has a mind of its own._

Athos squeezed his eyes shut tight and fought to stifle his scream. He forced it back deep in his throat and growled more than screamed. Aramis’s fingers tugged at Athos’s hair. “Let it out. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

The burn returned and Athos noticed a discernable stretch, and he realized Aramis most have slid in a second finger. He worked them back and forth a few times while Athos moaned. Then he turned them both in concert and bent them at just that spot. Athos screamed and did not, could not, do anything to stop himself. For a flash, Athos hoped Aramis hadn’t opened any windows, but he decided that if anyone heard him and cared to make anything of it, Athos would simply explain Aramis had been tending his wounds. And in a way, he was. Athos could not remember the last time he had felt so good in spirit.

“Can you take more?” Aramis asked.

“Yes. God, yes. Please, yes.”

“Not do you want more, but can you take it. I’ll not hurt you, Athos. Not ever.”

Athos swallowed and tried to concentrate on his words. He had to convince Aramis to give him more—nothing in his life had ever been so important. “You aren’t hurting me. Please. More. Fuck me, Aramis. Please, fuck me.”

“Not yet.” Athos felt something dribble on his ass, and he suspected it was the oil that had allowed Aramis inside him. And he was right. A moment later, another finger slipped in him and he screamed in pure bliss. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Aramis, I love it. I love you. Yes.”

Aramis began to deliberately shove all three fingers deep inside Athos and then pull them almost the entire way back out. In and out he went, Athos groaning, and gradually Aramis picked up speed, still continuing to go far within and then nearly leave him, but faster and harder until Athos’s whole body was moving, his cock pressing into the dressing table, making him scream in pleasure and pain.

And then it stopped. His hips stopped rocking back and forth, and the periodic brushing against that spot inside him ended, and Athos was empty.

But Aramis’s reassuring hand was swiftly back in his hair. “Shh. The best part is about to begin. You do still want this?”

“Yes!”

“It still feels good?”

“Nothing has ever felt better.”

Aramis’s hand fell from Athos’s hair and traced down his back. He could hear Aramis picking up the jar of oil from the table, and then the hand fell away from his back. Once more, Athos failed to contain a slight whimper. Aramis, as always, understood Athos, and where their legs touched, he increased the pressure. “I’m right here, Athos. I’ll always be right here.”

And in a moment it was even more true. Aramis’s cock, slick with oil, pushed up against Athos’s hole, stopped for a minute, and then entered him. Aramis went slowly, only pushing the tip in while Athos grunted. But after sliding just the head in and out gently a few times, he ventured in deeper. When Aramis’s cock passed over that magical spot inside Athos, he howled and clawed at the edge of the table, desperate to hold onto something, uncertain if he should move or be still.

When Aramis took hold of Athos’s hips and began thrusting in earnest, the decision was made for him—Athos had to move. He had to respond to Aramis’s motion, because remaining still was as impossible as not breathing.

“Oh, God, Aramis!” Athos yelled out when he realized it was now also impossible for him not to come. He had to. He could not hold out another second.

Aramis knew, of course, and released his bruising grip on Athos’s hip to reach around and take his cock in hand. Two tugs were all that were necessary to send Athos spending all over the underside of his dressing table.

Once he was certain Athos had finished, Aramis returned his spend-covered hand to Athos’s hip and pulled him closer with each thrust. His pace was brutal now, but Athos was in a dreamy haze of pleasure. The burn was even gone, and he just wanted Aramis to dive into him over and over forever. But soon his thrusts became irregular and all he said was Athos’s name. He shuddered and came until he fell over onto Athos’s back and just lay there.

“I love you,” Aramis panted into Athos’s neck.

“And I love you.” Athos did not even attempted to suppress the contented sigh that escaped him.

“I should pull out now. As lovely as this had been for me, I imagine you must be getting uncomfortable.”

“I’ve never felt so ideally situated in my life.”

Aramis chuckled and kissed his neck once more. But all the same, he slowly pulled out of Athos and slid off his back and onto the floor. A sudden misery overtook Athos, and he collapsed on the floor next to Aramis, who leaned against the wall. Aramis wrapped his arms around Athos and helped him up onto his lap. He squeezed Athos tighter and pressed kiss after kiss to his forehead. Athos slid his arms around Aramis and buried his face in Aramis’s neck.

“Did you like it, Athos?”

Athos kissed Aramis’s neck. “I loved it.”

Aramis squeezed tighter. “What part did you like best?”

“All of it, Aramis. I loved all of it. I loved how you touched me, the way it burned at first, but that only made me want you more. I loved when you found that spot inside me.” Athos tilted his face up and kissed Aramis’s check. “It felt even better than you promised it would. And I loved when you fucked me. I want you to fuck me every day for the rest of my life.”

Aramis turned his face so he could softly kiss Athos on the lips. “Don’t say that yet. You have to fuck me, too. You might like that better.”

Athos now kissed Aramis’s mouth, but he could not keep it gentle for long. Soon his lips were moving frantically and parting so he could slide his tongue into Aramis’s mouth. He clutched hard at Aramis, and Athos realized that he needed to feel more of him, that no matter what he had been given, he wanted more of Aramis, so with a quick tug Athos had Aramis’s shirt removed. Athos’s hand went immediately to that beautiful chest, his fingers running through the hair, his fingertips gliding across the hard nipples. He forced his tongue into Aramis’s mouth one more time.

With his head against the wall, Aramis had no way to pull back from the kiss. When Athos noticed this was what Aramis was attempting to do, he pressed harder, making it impossible for the kiss to end, until he felt guilty and groaned in resignation and broke the kiss. “I hope you have something terribly important to say. I was nowhere close to being done with that kiss.”

“Only that since we both essentially have our pants around our ankles, we might as well take them off.”

Athos squirmed and managed to kick off his in a matter of seconds. Aramis flipped his underclothes off as well with some quick work with his toes. Athos groaned into Aramis’s neck and started sucking. 

Aramis put his hands on Athos’s shoulders and Athos couldn’t contain a wince. “Did that hurt? Is something wrong?”

“I suffered a slight cut. It’s nothing significant.”

“It feels wet.” Aramis slid his hand through the neck of Athos’s untied shirt. His delicate surgeon’s fingers probed the wound, and now that Athos was made aware of it, he did think he might be bleeding. The surgeon the regiment had with them now was adequate for basic procedures, but Athos had never met someone who could sew a wound like Aramis.

Aramis pulled his hand back out and held his fingers up to his eyes to examine them in the flickering light of the lamp. He peered at them uncertainly and then gently placed them on the tip of his outstretched tongue. A shudder ripped through his body, and Athos could feel him growing hard again. “I….” Aramis dropped his hand from his mouth. “My apologies. I don’t know what came over me. Let me take care of your wound.” 

Athos kissed Aramis’s mouth, certain to use his tongue. He thought he could taste blood. “You made me promise to tell you everything. You must do the same.”

“But….” Aramis’s eyes flickered up, and Athos distinctly disliked what he saw there. He would not allow this to happen to Aramis.

“I forbid you to feel shame when you are with me,” Athos said. “There is no shame between us.”

Aramis shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

“But I do.” Athos whipped his shirt off. “You liked the taste of my blood. And I like giving you what you desire.” He twisted so that his shoulder was just under Aramis’s mouth. It was only leaking slightly, and Aramis would be able to fix the stitches later in a matter of minutes. There was no medical reason for him not to enjoy this opportunity.

And yet he turned his face away.

Only one event had ever made Aramis feel this kind of shame before—when he had been held prisoner and tortured in Andorra. The woman who had tortured him had known her business, and knew how to take advantage of the way her particular tortures aroused him. The spiritual scars this left were deeper than the physical ones, but Athos was determined to help Aramis heal them.

“You found out you liked the taste of blood with her, that awful night five years ago.” Athos said it as a statement, not a question, not wanting Aramis to feel as though he needed to answer. “Denying yourself now does neither of us any good.” He reached up to his shoulder and dampened his fingertip in the blood and then pressed it to Aramis’s lips. He did not want to let Athos in, but the constant, gentle pressure proved too much. Aramis allowed the finger into his mouth and started sucking, his eyes rolling back, a moan emanating from deep in his throat.

Athos used his finger to guide Aramis to his shoulder. When he tugged it free, Aramis still hesitated, but then his tongue tentatively slipped between his lips and licked at the blood. After a few more passes with his tongue, Aramis lost all restraint and pressed his mouth to the opening in the stitches and sucked. Even though the area was still tender, it did not cause Athos any pain—certainly none worth mentioning—and when Aramis moaned with pleasure, it made Athos start growing hard once more.

Eventually, Aramis lips were only brushing the wound, but he continued to moan. “I don’t want to suck too hard. These stitches are going to need replacing as it is. Heavens, who did them anyway?”

“New surgeon named Philippe.” Athos caressed Aramis’s cheek while he licked up more blood. “I look forward to being taken care of by you again.”

Aramis kissed Athos, and Athos could distinctly taste his own blood. He did not mind the taste, although he was not excited by it _per se_. No, what made him harder was knowing how much Aramis loved it and that he had been able to give it to him. Athos pushed his mouth as hard against Aramis’s as he had all night. He veritably fucked Aramis’s mouth with his tongue, Aramis responding by growing harder himself and squeezing Athos to himself even tighter.

Panting, Athos broke off the kiss, but he kept his lips as close to Aramis as he could and still manage to speak. In fact, their lips brushed against each other with every word. “I want to make you feel as good as you did me. I doubt I can, but…I want to fuck you. I want to try and make you as happy as I am.”

With his hand gripping Athos’s hair, Aramis pulled him into a ferocious kiss. “I know you’ll make me happy. I already am happy. I love you. I love your body.” As if to prove it, Aramis’s hands began to explore Athos, touching him everywhere before settling on his waist. “Mmm. I love it so much. I need to fix your stitches before we do anything else, though.”

Athos flicked his tongue across Aramis’s lips. “Fuck my stitches. I’m not bleeding badly. It can wait. Besides,” and here he pressed a hard kiss against Aramis once more, “we might end up ripping them right out again.”

Aramis hummed and gave Athos a quick peck to the lips. “Fair enough. But I’m at least cleaning it first. Come to the bed. I already set out water and cloths. I predicted we would need to clean each other tonight.”

“You were very prepared for me.”

“I’ve certainly thought about this night often enough. I’ve thought of little else, in fact, for the last month. God, Athos. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Athos kissed him, slowly, his tongue lazily finding its way around Aramis’s mouth. “Not half so beautiful as you. You are truly the handsomest man in Paris. What on earth are you doing with me?”

Aramis brushed soft kissed down Athos’s neck. “I’m doing exactly what I dreamed of doing. I believe I mentioned to you not long ago on our ride to Paris that I want to bathe you. I don’t think either of us wants to wait while I fill a tub, but as I said, I’ve got water ready for us to clean up a bit.” Aramis kissed him through a smile. “However, you need to get off my lap.”

Athos burrowed more deeply into Aramis’s neck with his face. “I don’t want to move.”

“But you do want to fuck me, and I think we will both be happier on the bed.”

Athos groaned, but agreed, and as his erection grew, he knew it would be best to move sooner rather than later. So he stood on slightly wobbly legs and held a hand out to Aramis to help him up. And when they were both upright they fell into an embrace, their mouths meeting with an urgency that showed they were both still far from sated. Without breaking the kiss, Aramis moved them slowly to the table next to the bed where the lamp burned and Aramis’s book lay.

The basin Athos had brought in while tending Aramis through his fever was also there and full of water. Aramis took up one of the cloths sitting next to it and wetted it. After squeezing it out, he wiped Athos’s shoulder clean. He dipped it back in the water and then kissed Athos while he ran the cloth over Athos’s stomach and cock, the latter receiving far more attention than necessary to come clean. Never breaking the kiss, for which Athos was grateful (he would sooner suck hot coals than not have Aramis’s tongue in his mouth), Aramis rewetted the cloth. The he pulled Athos close and reached around, cleaning off his back and still remarkably sensitive bottom.

Athos heard the cloth drop to the table. He broke the kiss long enough to spot the still dry cloth and take it up in his hand. Once he had their kiss reestablished, he dipped the cloth in the basin, gave it a good squeeze, and then cleaned Aramis, removing the evidence of their previous lovemaking. They would have a clean slate, as it were, for Athos to try and please Aramis on.

“I think it might finally be time to get into bed,” Aramis said with a grin.

Athos moaned and leaned his face into Aramis’s neck, the sweet smell of Aramis’s hair oil once more setting Athos’s cock twitching. Oil. “Where is the oil?”

Aramis groaned sadly. “Back over on the dressing table.”

Athos gave Aramis’s neck a quick kiss. “I’ll get it.”

“Shall I get into bed then? What exactly do you want to do to me?”

“Get into bed and we can discuss it.”

Aramis insisted on a wet, open-mouthed kiss consisting almost entirely of tongue before releasing Athos. “You must have had dreams of your own. What are they?”

“Besides to make you feel glorious?” Athos asked as he walked the dozen feet to the dressing table.

“That isn’t a dream, a fantasy. That’s merely good manners.”

Athos smiled and picked up the jar of oil. And then he saw Aramis’s clothes draped over the chair at the dressing table. He had been mostly undressed when Athos had arrived home, he now remembered as he looked at the pants hanging over the back of the chair. Yes, Aramis’s pants and his braces. Athos set the jar down and unbuttoned the braces from the pants. He clutched them tightly in one hand while he picked up the jar again. He hesitated, not knowing if he should suggest what was on his mind. But he had promised to tell Aramis everything, hadn’t he?

“Athos? Are you alright? Can you not find the oil? It should be at the far end closest to the door. Or do you not want to talk about your fantasies right now? We don’t have to tonight. But someday I want to know. I want to know it all.”

Athos whirled around, but he could not take a step toward the bed. But he had to tell him, even if he was panting so hard he found it difficult to breathe. “I want to tie you up. With your braces. I want you to know you can never leave. That you are mine.”

“Oh, God, Athos. Get over here. Now.”

There was no longer a possibility of hesitating. Athos practically ran to the bed where Aramis lay propped against the headboard, one pillow behind his back, another under his hips. Athos dropped the jar on the table as he pressed his body up to Aramis’s and kissed him deeply. Both of them were fully erect again, and it was impossible to not search for something to rub against.

But Athos did not want to just lay there naked, kissing Aramis all night, no matter how perfect it felt to press his cock against Aramis’s thigh. “How should I tie you so I can still…?”

Aramis threw his hands over his head. Athos’s bed had posts topped with ornamental nobs at each corner and the headboard peeked in the middle with another nob at the apex. “Just like this.”

“You,” Athos hesitated, “you don’t need to be facing the other direction?”

Aramis released his hold and dropped his hands to either side of Athos’s face in order to pull him into a kiss. “No. I don’t need to be facing the other way. This will work beautifully, and more importantly, this way I can look at you while you fuck me.”

Athos kissed him back and maneuvered himself between Aramis’s legs while he adjusted the pillow under his hips. Then Athos pushed Aramis’s hands back around the nob and tied them there with the braces. “Not too tight?” Athos asked, even though he hadn’t wanted to stop forcing his tongue hard into Aramis’s mouth to ask the question.

“It’s perfect.”

Athos kissed him again and reached for the oil. In the hopes he could do this half so well for Aramis as Aramis had for him, Athos dribbled a little oil on the first two fingers of his right hand he began in the same manner, circling with a light touch without pushing it in. He was rewarded with a moan in his mouth, so he circled it a bit faster.

“God, Athos, I love the way you touch me. And I love the tease. But just so you know,” Aramis paused to impart a swift, wet kiss to the side of Athos’s mouth, “you don’t actually have to go as slowly with me. Unless that’s what you want.”

What Athos wanted was to fuck Aramis so hard his head was bouncing off the back of the bed. But he also wanted to make Aramis happy. He wanted Aramis to never want to leave here. So he circled once more before pushing in the finger. Again Aramis’s moan let him know he was doing what was necessary to ensure pleasure. Athos could grow to need those moans as much as he had ever needed wine. He moved the finger slowly in deeper and almost all of the way out before pushing in again. Aramis hummed contentedly against Athos’s lips, but Athos wanted more than a contented hum. He bent his finger and moved it back and forth slowly searching. When Aramis threw back his head and screamed, Athos couldn’t help a small smile.

He rubbed the spot several times, Aramis yelling incoherent noises interspersed with pleadings to God and Athos’s name. Athos pressed his second oiled finger in and went on the quest to find the spot once more. He had always been good with directions and found it again immediately.

“Oh. Mary, Mother of God! Athos, stop. I’m going to come again right now if you don’t stop.”

Athos was cursing himself for not oiling a third finger from the start, and for the fact that the hand closer to the oil was now inside Aramis and he never wanted to take it out. “Then come,” Athos whispered, pressing his lips to Aramis’s exposed throat. “Why hold back? We spent seven years holding back.”

Aramis spasmed and pulled on the headboard, but there was no chance of his hands coming loose. Athos thrust his fingers in harder and deeper, doing his best to brush against the spot that made Aramis exclaim his name at every pass.

“Oh! Oh, Athos! Touch me. I…oh, God…I don’t need you to, but…”

Athos wrapped Aramis’s cock in his fist, rubbing his thumb over the tip, loving how much it already leaked. He gave a firm tug and pushed his fingers against that spot inside and watched in awe as Aramis came all over his own stomach.

Athos kissed him wet and sloppy, as Aramis went a little limp from his orgasm. With his tongue constantly out, he kissed down Aramis’s throat and over his chest, stopping to suck at each nipple while Aramis howled, and then down to the taut stomach where he lapped up some of the spend. Athos wanted to fuck Aramis now; he needed his own release again, but was Aramis ready?

Moving his fingers gently in and out, Athos asked, “Are you ready? Do I need to do more?”

“Oh, God, Athos, please, fuck me. Just put some oil on your beautiful cock and fuck me.”

Athos did not need this instruction a second time. He pulled his fingers out, eliciting a whimper from Aramis, and grabbed the jar. His coordination was not what it had been at the start of the night, and he poured out too much into his hand and dribbled some on Aramis’s stomach where it mingled with his cum. But Athos was far too needy to care. Once he dropped the jar back on the table, he rubbed the oil all over his cock, eliciting a whimper of his own when he touched the head. He was so hard and ready, Athos had to be cautious not to make himself come while applying the oil.

“Do it, Athos. Please, hurry. I want you.” Aramis thrust his hips at Athos and strained against his bonds, eager to get at Athos again. Athos knelt between Aramis’s legs and felt around, getting himself lined up. Once he thought he had it right, he slowly pushed forward, and Aramis’s gasp was all the sign he needed to know he’d found the proper place. Still keeping it slow, Athos continued forward, but he stopped about halfway in when Aramis gasped again, but not as clearly with pleasure as he had before.

“Too much?” Athos asked. “Do I need to stop? Should I pull out?”

“If you do that I will never forgive you. It’s so perfect, Athos. It feels so good. Please fuck me and don’t stop.”

Athos pushed the rest of the way in and leaned forward to kiss Aramis. By now they were both so lust-drunk they could not have kissed in any manner that was not frantic and wet. Aramis let out another of those moans Athos was already addicted to, and pulled his hips back far enough that he could then thrust in. Following another moan, Athos began to move back and forth building from a slow and steady rhythm to a feral drive he could barely control.

“I love you, Athos. I love you. I am yours.”

“And you are mine. You are mine.” Athos buried his face in Aramis’s throat. His oil-slicked hand fought to grip Aramis’s hip and the other was tangled in his hair. Athos had dreamed for years of being this close to Aramis and becoming this beautifully intimate. He literally had Aramis trapped in his bed while he made love to him. It was everything he had ever wanted. His thrusts grew harder.

“And you are mine. You are mine. Oh, God, you are mine.” Athos felt a surge and he could see stars behind his tightly closed eyes. “You are mine,” he screamed.


End file.
